In Shadows
by Shadow Padawan
Summary: The shadows hide some of the most significant (though they may not always be identified as such in that instant) moments in our lives.
1. How To Save a Life

_**Author's Note:** This is a cycle. That is, these are ficlets/drabbles that are unrelated to each other aside from having a common theme, in this case, dark potions and/or places. These ficlets were originally written as entries for the darkarts_ldws comm on LJ. _

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><p><strong>Title: <strong> How To Save a Life  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Horace Slughorn, Cassiopeia Black  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> None  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Cassiopeia and Marius are canonical Blacks as per JKR's Black Family Tree.

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><p>Being a half-blood himself, Horace had never cared to consider what happened to squibs born to Pureblood families. That is why Cassiopeia's early morning visit a few days before the new Hogwarts term – Horace's seventh year – was such a nasty shock.<p>

Cassiopeia was a fellow Slytherin two years below him. She was bright and in high social standing due to her family, so Horace began tutoring her in Potions the year before. Not because she needed tutoring but because Horace enjoyed the younger girl's gratitude and unspoken adoration. It was empowering knowing that he had such influence on a Black.

Cassiopeia flood in in the early morning, waking Horace from a deep and pleasant sleep. He met her in the living room, disheveled and baffled by her appearance. Usually prim and collected, Cassie looked a complete mess. Her cheeks were flushed, skirts rumpled and hair cascading in wild waves. "I need your help," she blurted out as soon as they sat down.

"With what, Cassie? Really, it's so early and—"

"They're going to kill Marius."

Horace's mouth fell slack, then shut, then opened again. "Who's going to kill your brother?"

She looked at him like he was insane. "My parents. Marius is a squib, Horace. I was too young to remember but Pollux said that Father had wanted to do it quietly when Marius was five. You usually know by five and that young…before he's seven…no one has to know the dishonor. But Mother begged to wait until Hogwarts. Just in case. Of course now that the letter hasn't come, everyone knows. They must kill him at Samhain. There's a ritual."

It was Horace's turn to stare at her like she was insane. In the pale morning light, the girl looked pallid with the blush on her cheeks glowing crimson. "Isn't that sort of thing illegal?" Horace choked out.

"They'll find a way to cover it up. Half the Ministry still looks the other way since it's tradition."

Horace rubbed a large hand over his forehead. Sweat had begun to collect there. "But what can I do?"

Her eyes shown brightly, feverishly. "The Draught of Living Death. I know you can brew it right, Sluggy, you're the best at Potions."

"I-I-I…I can't…" He was starting to panic. "Besides, how will that help you?"

"I have found a muggle family who will adopt him. Don't ask how. After the funeral, you and I will sneak back to the cemetery and get Marius out. We'll give him the antidote and I'll take him to the rendezvoused with the muggles."

"So you want me to brew the antidote too? All this in a matter of days. Cassie, I can't! What if—"

"They're going to kill my brother, Horace!" She reached over and grabbed his hands. "If you do this, I will be forever indebted to you. There's no one else I can ask."

Horace waivered, looked at her, looked at their hands… "For Merlin's sake! …Alright, I'll…try. I'll do it."


	2. A Rendezvous

**Title:** A Rendezvous  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Lucius Malfoy, Andre Rosier, Theodore Mulciber  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> None

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><p>Knockturn Alley had a tendency to be dark even during the day with the hanging smoke, the overhanging building roofs, and the deep sense of dark magic that brewed and festered in the place. At night it was pitch black. Lucius had wanted to light a lumos the moment they got there, but Rosier and Mulciber had told him no. "We'll be seen, you dunderhead. You don't want to know what sort of things are done here to robes as flashy as yours at night."<p>

"It's not my fault I have fashion sense," Lucius hissed back at his friends, lifting up the hem of his embroidered, expensive robes so that they wouldn't be sloshed with the muck that seeped through the cracks in the cobblestone.

"You mean it's not your fault you dress like a peacock," Andre Rosier teased quietly, nudging Lucius lightly in the arm.

"Watch it; I can't really see where I'm going. How much further?"

"We're almost there," Andre reassured him.

"How can you even tell?" Lucius jumped slightly at the feeling of something running over his boots. Had that been a rat? In the pitch blackness of the alley he couldn't tell. The blond gripped his wand even tighter than he was already holding it, if that was at all possible.

"I've had some experience. Antonin, Augustus and I went skulking around here last summer."

"At _night_?"

"Yes?"

"You lot are mad."

"The Dark Lord does not appreciate cowards and pussies," Theodore Mulciber remarked thoughtfully.

"I'm not a coward or a pussy," Lucius sniffed indignantly, still attempting to peer into the darkness. "I just don't admire the special effects. Everyone knows Riddle has a decent political headquarters. What's with all the dinginess and slop?"

"It's a test, Lucius, a test," Andre said, the smirk on his face slipping into his tone. He stopped so abruptly that Lucius almost ran into him. "We're here."

Lucius looked up as Andre began to cast some sort of revealing charm. The building they had stopped in front of was nondescript with the same bleak brick wall, molding patches and lewd graphite. Nothing very different from many of the building in this area. Suddenly Andre ended his whispered incantation and pointed his wand at the center of the wall. A deep, creaking sound announced the opening of a door which Lucius had not noticed before, or perhaps it had just been revealed. A slim ray of greenish light seeped out of the building and over the muddy cobblestone of the alley, stopping at the tips of Lucius' boots.

Lucius looked around at his friends but they both took a step back to flank him from behind. "After you," Mulciber said firmly. Lucius took in a deep breath, letting it out through his nose, swept back the long curtain of his blond hair, lifted his chin and stepped into the green light…


	3. Three Boys and a Rose

**Title:** Three Boys and a Rose;  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Argus Filch, Severus Snape, Evan Rosier, Jack Avery  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> none

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><p>Argus Filch had seen it all in his lifetime. The students would always try to sneak in some dangerous and unnecessary toy. The older they got, the more dangerous their "toys" became. Everything from illegal potions, to ancient cursed artifacts, to very simple things like cheating quills and silver knives, sharp enough to slice through the toughest surfaces within moments. Purebloods were especially prone to bringing in forbidden and dangerous objects. Sometimes, they didn't even know the things were dangerous. A second year Slytherin had once brought with him an ancient spell book he had stolen from his father's library which was full of rituals for calling up demons. One of the prefects had confiscated it first, then passed it around the entire contingent of Slytherin upperclassmen.<p>

But with all the things Argus had seen in his years at Hogwarts, he had never seen anything like this.

The three fourth years who stood in front of him – Snape, Rosier and Avery – were looking nervously between each other and shifting from side to side. Rosier wasn't looking up, except at his friends, Avery had the idiotic look of a dead fish every time Filch hummed in disapproval, and Snape just stared holes into him as though trying to set him on fire without the use of a wand, even as he fidgeted with the folds of his robes.

Mrs. Norris wound around the boys in predatory circles several times, mewing loudly, before returning to her master's side. Filch ignored her for the moment as he attempted to understand the strange artifact in his hand. It was a golden – or gilded – rose, wrapped in a dark green velvet cloth which seemed to shimmer when he ran it between his hands. "What is this?" Filch asked, gritting his teeth. It looked like something that the boys shouldn't have and it looked old. Though he had no idea what it did or meant.

"It's something my mother gave me," Rosier piped up.

"Then why was it in Mr. Snape's bag?" Filch sneered. They weren't going to get him that easily.

"Mine was full."

"What does it do?"

"It doesn't do anything." Rosier's pupils seemed to dilate by the moment.

"Don't lie to me, boy, if you don't want detention," Filtch advised in a tone as oily as his hair.

"It's…it's for a courting ritual."

"A courting ritual?"

"Yes." Rosier seemed to inflate. "Purebloods start courting as early as fourteen. I am to find a suitable party this year and present her with that rose as a sign of formal intent to court."

Filch sneered. Pureblood brats and their silly customs. He flipped the rose upsidedown and glared at it. "I'm going to take this to the headmaster for inspection. If I find that it is a dark object you will all get detention." He heartily enjoyed the look of horror on Avery's face before stalking off down the dark hall.

As soon as Filch had gone, the three boys sighed in relief. "Good save, Evan," Jack Avery muttered as they hurried toward their common room.

"What right does he have to invade our privacy?" Severus was muttering.

"At least he didn't find what we're really hiding. If he'd found the books Dolohov and Karkaroff gave us… Sev, what does that thing do anyways?"

Snape huffed in annoyance. "Nothing, you dolt. I bought it in a muggle store full of rubbish. It was just as decoy so that Filch would get distracted by it and not find the books."

"Nice," Evan and Jack chorused as the trio slipped into the safety of their common room.


	4. Preparing For Purgatory

**Title:** Preparing for Purgatory  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Orion Black, Regulus Black  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> None

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><p>Disownment rituals are much like funerals – somber, official affairs. They simply happen to be more private and a little more ritualized. There tends to be more anger than grief involved in the prior, but Orion thinks that that's a variable.<p>

Grimmauld Place is shadowy and strict on the brightest summer day. Now, with the ritual mourning in place, most of the curtains drawn, the portraits in utter hysterics, the Black family nest is dark and gloomy, imposing in a way that is meant to be discomforting. Walburga has gone down to meet the rest of the family. Only a few years ago they had done this for Andromeda and Walburga had sworn that she would never let Sirius bring such shame to the family.

They have both failed at that.

Orion smoothes out the velvet skirts of his tailcoat and reaches for his robes. In the large mirror, stands an aging man with sharp, aristocratic features, graying hair and richly embroidered clothes. A man who is about to burry his son alive.

The candlelight that lights the dressing room glints gold off the silver embroidery of the robes. They are of French tailoring, the heavy fabric still flowing and fluid. The broach holding the robes closed is the same hue of silver and black, displaying the Black family crest. Orion closes the clasp with a reverence, then reaches for the ring. The gemstone sparkles up at him for a moment, then fades into a steady black glow. It is framed in silver, the engravings of the sun on the frame – a symbol of the eldest son and family heir. Sirius disliked wearing his for formal occasions.

Sirius had always hated formalities.

It has always been strange to Orion because he had never minded them as a boy and Regulus partakes in family occasions with a sober expression of duty that Sirius could never assume even under threats of punishment.

Orion picks up his wand and slides his hand down the smooth length of the wooden rod. It thrums in an accepting familiarity of his touch. The ritual incantation flutters like a melody through his head and the candles around him flicker, as though sensing the ominous ritual to come.

The clock strikes quarter to midnight when Orion opens the door to the dressing room, emerging slowly into the dark hallway. At the landing, he stops and looks down. The house is dark, as per mourning custom, and only light from the tapestry room spills in long, yellow needles across the hardwood floor. Women's voices carry quietly through the dusty silence. No sign of Kreacher anywhere, but he may be comforting Regulus.

Regulus.

Orion takes long strides down the hall to Regulus' room. He knocks sharply, thrice, before pushing the door open. Orion's youngest – soon to be only – son stands in the middle of the room, in full ritual robes, his long, black hair swept behind his ears and tied in a slender ponytail with a black, satin ribbon. Regulus is weaving his wand through the air in some complicated figure, muttering under his breath. He leads at his wand's tip a purple string of magical light which dies the moment he notices he is not alone and lowers his wand. Orion wonders if this is something they are learning at the Academy with Dolohov, but now is not the time to ask.

Regulus sheaves his wand and looks over at his father. Orion notices, not without pride, that the boy has restrained his emotions. He will make a better heir than Sirius, Orion tells himself.

"Come, Regulus. It is time."


	5. The Uses of Blackmail

**Title:** The Uses of Blackmail  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Draco Malfoy, Antonin Dolohov, Borgin  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> none

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><p>"I don't think he can be trusted for much longer. The slimy git is ready to bolt every time he sees me. Despite all the things I have bought from him. I'm afraid he won't be cooperative," Draco says calmly, hands clasped behind him back. He's itching to hold his wand, but it remains formally clasped to his best, perfectly in sight.<p>

The small meeting room at strategic headquarters where Draco is having his meeting with Dolohov is warm and well lit. The fire crackles softly in the hearth and the young Malfoy forces himself to relax as he faces his commanding officer with a feeling that is fear and distaste and awe all at once. Antonin rises slowly and paces the length of the room before speaking. "Mr. Malfoy, perhaps on the given date we could _persuade_ Mr. Borgin to not put up a resistance. I doubt he will, really."

"No, sir, You don't understand. He knows too much. Besides, I need to run one more test with the cabinets…" Draco falters. The air here is oppressive despite the light and warmth, saturated with tension and alarm, blood plans and night vigils. It's both better and worse than Malfoy Manor.

Antonin considers this, running one hand over his face and into his hair. Finally, he waves his wand, summoning a file-folder. The folder splays itself out on the table and Dolohov proceeds to extract a wizarding photograph from among the other papers. "We just brought in some new recruits," he says evenly, sliding the photograph over the table to Draco. On it is a scrawny boy about Draco's age with a pudgy face and thick, coarse hair. He is dressed in the Durmstrang uniform with a black, Death Eater cloak hanging over his arm. "Titanius Borgin. Borgin's nephew and ward." Antonin gives Draco a meaningful look.

The young Malfoy hesitates, then picks up the photograph and quickly stuffs it into a pocket of his robes. "Understood, sir."

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><p>Draco apparates to downtown London, then to Diagon Alley, then to Borgin and Burkes. They had all been taught to make several jumps before arriving at a mission destination. Draco's bright blonde hair is covered with the heavy hood of his cloak as he pushes open the creaking door of the shop and slips inside.<p>

He takes in the interior, a sneer of distaste curling his lips at the gruesome, amputated limbs, pickled in jars and displayed along the walls. The light is dim and cold, somehow too bright and white to be normal candlelight. His boots leave imprints on the dusty floor as he walks to the back of the shop, toward the cabinet.

Borgin appears before him, hunched and crawling with something – lice, Draco thinks sometimes – as he always does, in silence and with a sycophantic, tremulous expression. Draco drops his hood. He can almost see the silent wail that the shopkeeper's mind releases. "Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure," Borgin simpers out in a falsetto that betrays him. "Have you come for another item?"

Draco sneers. "I need to run an experiment on the vanishing cabinet. I also want to re-establish with you that you are to remain cooperative and stay in the shop with the closed sign on the door on the date we have discussed." Draco watches the man's face falter and twitch.

"Why don't you just buy the cabinet, Mr. Malfoy. I would gladly sell it to you."

"No," Draco snaps. The wind outside howls and beats against the cobweb covered windows.

"I really do not feel…my shop is not…" Borgin stumble all over himself and practically jumps when Draco reaches into his pocket.

Draco extracts the photograph that Antonin had given him and waves it at Borgin. "Could this, perhaps, change your mind?"

Borgin reaches out and snaps the picture from his hand. Draco waits a moment before speaking. "Your ward is one of our new recruits, Borgin. He will fair better if you cooperate." Draco stares the man down, and finally, with a small, hesitant bow, Borgin steps aside.


End file.
